War of the Dragons
by Hela's Hand
Summary: (AU and slow Merthur) The winds of fate have a way of working with someone's destined path. They might blow them to roads that would lead them astray, or, when they are kind, they might guide them to gentle roads. But sometimes, the winds blow them to roads that are littered with jagged rocks and knives coated with slow acting poison.


**Author's Note/Babble** – I just thought of 'War of the Roses' and how the whole 'Rains of Castamere' business might be based off of it (I don't know if it's just a fan theory or confirmed) and decided to put it in a blender will Merlin as well. So tada.

The cover is a cropped version of something I made a while back, just so you know.

**Warnings (covering for the whole story in general)** – Gore, language, and sexual mentions (from both fields). Heavy T (for now).

**History (which I'm putting here so it won't put the story in a halt) **– House Pendragon and House Aurelianus have been at war with one another on and off for over a hundred years, an unspoken fact that each were the kings or queens of the strained South and North, an invisible line separating the two. Neither side were ever at peace for long, one house always finding something to start the war again.

Following the death of his wife, Uther had outlawed magic, executing any who practice or affiliates with it. With this act the war was called on again after a five year rest, and the invisible line became legal, breaking the land into the North and South. King Uther became the king of the South, while the North crowned the surviving Dragon Lord Balinor as their king. Almost all magic users and sympathizers have moved to the North while those who are against it have moved to the South.

**Fair Warning** – I have no beta or a second pair of fresh eyes, so all the mistakes are mine.

*** ~ _"My secret friend...I'll take you to the river...My secret friend...so we can swim forever..."_ – IAMX ft. Imogen Heap: _My Secret Friend_ ~ ***

"Move your feet more, Merlin!" his brother yelled. He did as he said, blocking his vertical swipe. He gave his own attack, hating the unwelcome weight in his hands. "You're as stiff as old trees," his brother commented with a short smirk.

He hit his brother with a spell as frustration took hold, causing him to fall to the ground. "I'm not a good of a swordsman as you," he told his other brother.

"Thank the gods for your magic than," he said as he stood gracefully, "else you'd be dead three times over."

He couldn't argue with that, tilting his head to the side as he blew the anger out of his nose. "Now, should we see what Janus wants?"

They both looked at the younger servant, who was moving from one foot to the other while looking down. He glanced up and walked up to them, his face stiff. "Your father has called a meeting," the auburn haired man said.

He looked at his brother, "think it's urgent?"

Ambrosius had a thoughtful look in his eyes, "let's find out."

They more or less followed the servant, moving through the flapping tents as the breeze tussled them. Janus held the tarp to their father's tent open for them to go through, which Merlin let his brother walk through first.

"Ambrosius," he heard their father say, "and Merlin. I wondered when you would join us."

He glanced at their mother, who was dressed in leather armor and furs. She had a look on her face that told him they were going to be separated.

"I was teaching Merlin some more techniques," he told their father.

"Let Merlin stay with his magic," their father said, "and you stay with your sword."

"We're more powerful together," Merlin repeated his words. "So, where are we taking part of the army?"

He felt Ambrosius look at him before he look back to their father, "what changed?"

Their father motioned for them to move towards the map, walking around the table so he would be in front of both of them. Merlin took a few steps closer and looked down, feeling Ambrosius do the same. Wooden pieces of the different houses were on the large map of the island, showing where each section of the armies were.

The docile looking crest of Pendragon was mostly on parts of the east, with some sparsely in their lands. Their own, more fierce crest, was in the enemy's lands as well, closer to their castle than he originally thought.

Merlin looked up, "you want us to attack his castle."

"We can't," Ambrosius said before his father could answer, "with the dragons staying out of the war we will be either captured or killed."

"Uther is here," their father explained, pointing to the spot. "His spawn is here, both far from their castle. We know that Prince Arthur plans to meet the king's ward and attack our own castle soon. Already we are packing and leaving to defend it."

"While we take our part of the army and attack the mostly defenseless stronghold," Merlin said.

"Take a king's land you take his power," Ambrosius almost chanted with a tight tone. "How do you know he is attacking and not playing us for fools?"

"My brother stays in Camelot to help those wounded that can no longer fight," their mother said, "and he has had his eyes and ears on the temporary ruler's meeting."

"Why are we hearing about this uncle now?" his brother asked.

"Because the less that people knew the safer the secret would be," their father said.

"How do you know that he is trustworthy?"

"Gaius is my brother – "

"That means nothing," his brother said with a sharp tone, "what has he done to show that he isn't loyal to Uther. That he wouldn't leave us to the wolves to tear us limp from limp."

"He has freed many of those convicted of sorcery and helped them escape from Camelot and execution. He's a good soul _and_ he's my brother. He would never do anything to harm me or my children."

"How _do_ you _know_? When was the last time you saw him? Why is he on the enemy side of the war in the first place? We shouldn't trust this Southerner's information on the fact that he's family!"

"I was on the enemy's side as well," his mother said with a shaking voice, "before I met your father. And I know that Gaius wouldn't lie because he used to _have_ magic."

"Than why does King Uther keep him alive? How do you know that he isn't giving _him_ information?"

"Ambrosius, enough. I trust your mother's judgment, and I've met Gaius before. He is trustworthy."

His brother glared at his father, "this isn't about trust! This is about the lives of our knights, of our civilians if we fall, of those who have or know those who have magic.

What do you think will happen when we are killed? The lords and ladies will fight to declare themselves king or queen, making them easy targets for the invading Southerners, and the Southern King will massacre all of the fleeing warlocks and sorceresses!"

"I have already taken precautions if that happens," his father said.

"**When,"** his brother corrected with a dark tone, "this plan you would have us do will help the **Southerners** in bringing the North to her knees."

Merlin watched him storm off, the sudden cool wind moving through his hair. He looked at his father, who hid his emotions behind stone walls, than to his mother, who looked distraught.

"I'll try to convince him," he said awkwardly.

"He'll do his duty," his father told him sharply.

Merlin licked his dry lips before he nodded. He gave a shift bow before leaving the tent to walk around for a bit, giving his brother a few moments to himself, before going where he thought he could be.

He walked out of the camp's borders and found his brother in the thick tree forest, their deep green leaves still unnerving him as he walked through before stopping well away from him. He felt the twinge of home sickness as he watched his brother hack away at the tree.

"I think you killed it," he said after a while.

Ambrosius stopped after a moment, "the plan is suicide."

"If mother and father trust his words than we should too," Merlin said as he went back to hacking at the tree.

His brother gave another swipe before turning to him, "are we suppose to believe the words of a man who has lived in Camelot for well over twenty years? He might be brainwashed to believe that magic is evil like all the other Southerners have been brainwashed."

"He used to have magic himself," Merlin argued, "I believe we can trust him."

His brother looked away to sigh, shaking his head in defeat. "I always wondered where your soft side came from," Ambrosius said, "turns out we have the blood of the _Southerners_ in our veins."

Merlin swallowed, watching his brother sheath his sword. His older brother came over and pulled him into his arms, holding him tight. He felt him grip his greasy hair and kiss above his ears.

"The devils take us all," his brother said, not letting him go. "If we die, than we die. But I'm making sure you at least get a chance to live."

"I'm not a coward. I'll die in battle right besides you."

Ambrosius gave a scoff, "the gods aren't that kind."

"They've been kind so far," he said to his brother, resting his head in the crook of his neck after a while when he only hummed. Ambrosius smelt of metal, leather, and sweat, with a little something that was undeniably his own special scent. "It'll be okay," he told his brother, "we'll capture the castle and win the war. I'll finally get a chance to say I told you so."

"I won't even be angry if you do so."

"Even if I say it every day for the next few years."

His brother moved to stare him down, even though they were almost the same height. "Don't push it," he said with a serious tone. Merlin stared at him to before he was pulled back into the hug and felt him kiss above his ears again, "let's go get ready to die than."

His brother released him and they walked back to the camp slowly, seeing flickers in Ambrosius' steel colored eyes as they walked.

They were taking almost half of the army, men and women who looked like a fire was built in their hearts as they marched in unison through the southern plains. Merlin felt his own fire burn inside at the thought of ending the war, yet he felt that twinge of fear. He was use to small army attacks and taking towns, he had never taking a castle before.

"It's not so different," his brother said when he confided in him the other night, "it's just a mix between an army and a town. Most fighters are experience killers, and the walls are much hard to break through. Now, Camelot is surrounded by a thick forest..."

Merlin put his words in the back of his mind as he walked through the camp, focusing on all the spells he knew and remembering what each did over and over until he was sick of them.

Then he went over the plan. He would stay by Ambrosius' side, using his magic to attack and kill the enemy, leaving no survivors as they worked their way to the gates. He tried not to show his disdain for having to do that, but he knew that he had no other choice.

"Emrys."

He felt his steps falter and stopped to glance over at the person that spoke, an older woman who he think he caught glimpses of when he was a child in Hamrett.

"I think you mean my brother. He should be in his tent with the lords and ladies," he told the druid woman as he pointed in that direction, "I'm sure they will be done in a bit."

"I have met your brother," she told him, "but what little magic he has in himself doesn't sing as loud and melodic as yours."

Merlin frowned, knowing that most druids with a connection to the earth had the ability to 'hear' magic in a person, and how they can talk and read a person's mind.

"As honorable as it is," he said carefully, "I believe you have the wrong person."

"You may not believe it now," the druid said, "but you will one day. You are Emrys, magic in human form. And you will help the Once and Future King in rebuilding this land and making her whole once more."

"The Once and Future King?" he asked, haven't heard of that phrase before even in passing.

"The part of you that you can't live without," she said, "the other side of yourself that makes you whole."

He watched the woman bow to him and walk away, blinking in confusion. _'That isn't me,'_ he thought as he began walking again, _'I'm only the magical half of my brother. I'm not the other half of this Future King.'_

He tried not to think of the possibility as he walked around, or the wonder, of having someone who could make him feel complete and whole. If he did, he would only be disappointed when he doesn't find this supposed other half of himself.

Merlin heard the familiar voice of his brother's deep voice over the mumbles of others and paused. He followed the voice and saw Ambrosius talking to a few knights near the fire, seeing them suddenly start to fight with their fist with the others cheering them on.

He smiled at his brother as he seemed to dance with the knight, seeing his soften face when he helped the other knight to his feet after he defeated him, waving off the cheers. He knew that they, as did others, believed they knew his brother well if not completely, thinking they knew his very bones. Even their parents thought they knew him well.

But none knew of the steel that was underneath his handsome face, inside his body, that formed his very bones, hard and cold like the lands back home.

They didn't see the winter storm in his eyes when he became ferocious. Those that saw a glimpse of it were already dead, and only he walked out of that wild winter storm unharmed.

He recalled how the ladies of his home praised those eyes, the Father King's eyes, fawning about how he seemed to capture the harsh storms inside. How the lords would look to him in pity whenever he would swordplay with the other children, whispering behind his back how he will never be as great as his brother, his eyes more water than ice.

_'He is a true son of the North,'_ he thought with a twinge of sadness as he walked to his tent to sleep away the memories and anxiety, knowing that the castle was deep inside the forest.

* * *

Arthur tried not to breath as he walked, the smell of death and blood around him. If there was one thing he hated about battle, it was afterward.

Finding out who had died, who was missing, identifying what body part went to who, though most of the time it was a guessing game. Then there was writing letters to send to wives and sisters that their husbands and brothers haven't made it.

He sighed before looking at the fallen soldiers, most of them Northerners. He kept moving towards the castle, knowing that the prisoners would be put in front of their broken gates. He made sure to move each body with his foot as he went, listening for moans and watching for movements.

If they were his soldiers, he would call someone over to help them. If they were an enemy, he would give them a quick death with his sword. His father asked for no prisoners but the leader and his younger brother, after all.

The sorcerer was bound in the chains his ancestors made for powerful warlocks long ago, with two knights besides him. The elder brother stared him down, which was easy, since he was a bit taller.

The knights besides each made the northerners kneel.

"Prince Ambrosius of House Aurelianus," Arthur greeted.

"Prince Arthur of House Pendragon," the heir of Hamrett said with his strange accent. Blood was everywhere on his body, most of it not his own. The foreign prince truly looked, as the rumor's described him, a wolf made man. "A shame we didn't meet on the battlefield. Give me a sword and we shall remedy this."

He smirked down at him, the temptation to fight the slightly older man to the death almost too much to bear. "If we fight, you will die, which would be a shame if we need you."

The slightly older prince stared at him, his eyes almost glancing over to his brother. He watched his jaw lock and a reluctance look pass his eyes. "I don't care if you kill me," the heir spoke, "just let my brother go. The prophets say that he shall have no blood child of his own."

Arthur stared as he thought, "meaning when you die the Dragon Lord bloodline ends with you. Unless your parents have another."

"It's too dangerous," he said, "they say if my mother gives birth to another child it will tear her apart."

Arthur paused.

He looked at the younger brother, who looked to still be growing into his body. He was pale like all the other northerners, his skin looking like fine porcelain in the dark, though he was not nearly as handsome as his brother.

Dried blood was on the side of his face, the wound bleeding down like a tear. His eyes, blue and captivating, pleaded with him to spare his brother silently.

He looked back at the elder brother with a strange beating heart, "we will wait until the king comes back to pass judgment."

"You do that and you condemn my brother to die," the heir said slowly, a strange flicker in his eyes.

Arthur stopped himself from looking at the other brother, "so be it. Put the older brother in a cell and the sorcerer in the tower cell."

The older brother gave no resistance as he was grabbed, standing up and walking on his own over the bridge, but the look he gave him as he passed would have burned him to ashes if they held power behind them.

The younger brother was different. His face told Arthur that he wanted to argue with him, telling him to kill him and let his brother go. But he saw behind that plea that the boy knew, as he did, that his older brother's death was written in stone.

He felt a twinge of sadness stay and grow in his heart as the days passed slowly, waiting for his father to come back home, news to come back about how Morgana captured the enemy castle, and paperwork.

The boy's eyes wouldn't leave his mind, the intensity only increasing with each cup of wine. They shouldn't have effected him as much as they were. He killed younger in battle, their eyes frightened, scared, and haunting.

But the boy, Merlin, seemed to call to Arthur. His very soul seeming to reach out for the foreign prince, wanting him. But for what, he didn't know.

_'He has magic,'_ he mind reasoned, _'he has you under a spell.'_

He knew it wasn't true, though. The chains and the tower bounded magic, no matter how powerful. His ancestors made sure of that because of the bloodline of House Aurelianus.

His mind went over the stories he'd heard as the wine took hold, about knights who fell in bed with other men, how some never held attraction to men before but something about a particular one made them want to either lay with that man as if one would a woman or spend the rest of their days with them.

Arthur knew that his father wouldn't care if he wanted to bed the boy, only if he said he wanted to wed him would he become furious. Making love to a fellow man meant no bastards running around with woman behind them with dreams of being queen. His father might even push them together, if only to discourage rumor of his many bastard children running around the city.

It wouldn't discourage the other lords who wanted him to marry their daughters, though, he knew that for sure. Marriage was more of a bonding between kingdoms instead of love, after all, and the children proof of the union.

_'And it would stay King Balinor's hand in the process if we become lovers,' _he thought as he walked down the hall.

He looked at the knights and told them to let him in, the wine settling in his stomach. He walked through as the door opened, seeing the boy stripped of his armor.

The foreign prince was dressed in nothing but the cotton clothing that must have been under that armor, dull gray pants and a purple tunic. The string was completely undone, his collarbone clear for him to gaze at. He tried not to show that he found the color against his ivory skin beautiful as the boy looked up.

"Pendragon," the prince said with a dead tone.

Arthur had a retort on his tongue, but he bit it back. "Aurelianus," he settled on.

"You've come to gloat in my face that you won the war."

"Just because I captured you both doesn't mean I've won."

"The only reason you are here is to tell me that your attack on my father's castle went well and you've won."

He stared before walking a bit closer, "even if we've captured your castle I don't believe that alone would stop your father from calling the war off."

"It's not my father who is keeping this war afloat."

Arthur bit down, knowing that he told the truth. He remembered his father once confided in him that if King Balinor ever suggested a treaty he would agree, but once the king comes to sign the treaty he would bound and execute the sorcerer king.

"How old are you?" he heard himself ask.

The boy blinked before narrowing his eyes, "how old are you?"

"Twenty," he said after a while.

The boy glanced him over a bit, "sixteen."

"Young."

"Younger are fighting and dying in this war."

Arthur saw only a flicker in his eyes how that affected him.

"Both war raised children," he commented after a tense silence.

"Strange how different the both of us are," the foreign prince said.

"Are we?"

"I don't like killing," the boy began, "hate doing it. But I know I have to, to keep my family and people safe. You, however, enjoy it. I saw that look in your eyes when my brother offered to fight you on a lot of other men, dangerous murderers that we had to execute to keep the peace. And I can bet that what one of the men told the court that has never left my mind when we questioned him applies to you."

The prince took a breath before speaking with a dead tone, "killing is sweeter than any wine or woman's kisses. It's better than any victory and warmer than what's between a woman's legs, fills you better too. I love killing, and you lot can't tell me that you don't love the thrill either."

Arthur paused as the words suck in, "You have an odd idea of what you think I am."

"Tell me I'm wrong."

He licked his lips, "I enjoy a good fight, yes. And sometimes, I do enjoy when I kill my enemies. But I'm not like those murderers you served justice to."

Merlin gave his own scoff, looking to the side. He glanced back with a dark look in his eyes and mocked, "there's only one you. And no one else."

Arthur sucked in a long breath through his nose, "I think you should get to know me first before you judge me."

The boy narrowed his eyes a bit, glancing over him a few times. "I'll get to know you if you bring word to my brother," he finally said.

He saw the look in his eyes, "you don't think I would?"

"I think you would try to decipher what I said before you told him, though it would be rather idiotic, seeing as we're both caged. After that, you might just not tell him."

"Tell me what to tell him and see."

The prince gave a soft smirk, glancing him over one more time. "Alright," the boy said, "tell him – and listen carefully. Don't let your clouded mind screw it up."

The boy said a word in his language, which sounded as cold yet soft as falling snow. Arthur said the word, and the boy repeated the word again, slower and enunciating. Arthur repeated and the foreign prince smiled, which caused his gut to tingle fiercely.

"That's all?"

"Yes."

"Nothing else?"

"That's it. I'll know if you talked to him by his response, and we'll go from there. Got to do something while I wait for death, anyway. Why not turn the Prince of Camelot into a bird?"

He hummed, feeling something settle in his heart at the thought of Merlin dying. "I hope you think of me as at least a trained raven."

"I was thinking more of a flying rat."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the boy, who gave a cooing sound. He turned to hide his smile, opening the door and walking out with a straight face.

He went down to the dungeon and to the elder brother's cell, thanking that those he passed didn't stop him for anything. Said brother stared at him with his steel colored eyes while sitting on the bed, questioning.

"Your brother wanted me to give you a word," he told him before saying it.

The heir's eyes grew slightly bigger in shock and stared before he gave a scoff in amusement, "it's two words."

"What?"

The elder brother said the word, "is two words. I thought you would have been taught our language?"

"I've...forgotten."

He smiled up at him with no hostility, "if you say so...Why did you talk to my brother?"

Arthur almost flinched at the sudden hardness of his eyes, darker than even his father's. "I thought it would be beneficial," Arthur started to say.

"Beneficial?" the elder brother said slowly before he could continue talking. He stood from the bed and walked to the bars, "such a big and misguiding word..." Arthur didn't move as he gripped the bars with one hand to stare him down, moving close to his face. "When all it really means is that you want to fuck my brother," he snarled in a low voice.

He tried not to break their gaze, "hitting below the belt, Aurelianus?"

"Look me in the eye and tell me it's a lie, _Pendragon_."

Arthur felt his lip twitch as his strange eyes glared down at him, but he felt the lie catch in his throat.

"I saw how you looked at him," the elder brother began, "I have seen that look on a thousand men and woman. The thirst, the _hunger,_ for another. It figures that the only _thing_ that looked at him with such intensity is the one thing I can't protect him from."

"I'm not going to rape him."

"No?" the brother mocked. "What, will you only talk to my brother, being his only ally in this devil's pit, where he could only rely on you? The only one he can trust, which you will twist until he loves you, and when you had your fill of him you will throw him to the side like a tattered shirt. I know your type, Pendragon. I've had men, and a few women, that were like you in my army before I straightened them out."

"I will not rape him," Arthur repeated, "and I won't throw him away if we sleep together."

"So you say."

"I have had loves for the night the few times I was home or at an ally's castle," Arthur told him, "women who knew that it was only for the night. I respected them in the morning and was as friendly with them as I was with other woman who I hadn't laid with. Believe me when I say that I won't take him without his consent and won't twist his mind so he will be with me for that reason only."

The elder brother seemed to strip off every layer of flesh down to his bones as he studied his face when he talked, digging and searching.

He scoffed and his lip twitched upward, "I'll hold you to it. Because if you don't, no matter where my soul goes when I die, I will crawl out of that place and pull your spine out _from your __**ass."**_

He felt a chill move down said spine, feeling the hairs stand up the back of his neck at his murderous face. The storm disappeared from his face slowly, yet the silent lightning remained in his eyes.

"I would deserve it," he answered honestly.

The elder brother smiled, but the steel stayed, "tell my brother this." He said some words in their language, slow so Arthur could catch it all, and repeated only once. "I'm trusting you, Pendragon."

He nodded before leaving him, blinking his stinging eyes. He thought he knew what the heir meant by those words.

"Back so soon?" the foreign prince asked when the door closed.

Arthur remembered the words and spoke them, not expecting the sudden laugh from the boy. His eyes crinkled and his face seemed to capture the moon's light, the shadows accenting his features.

"What did I say?"

The boy licked his dry lips, his eyes shining in mirth. "You said 'this prince is a clotpole'...at least you kept your word."

"I told you I would."

The prince hummed, "true...I like to wear neckerchiefs. Red and blues, mostly. I saw some of the orphans wearing them around Hamrett and tried one on, liking it ever since."

Arthur paused before catching on, "I like wearing red...anything"

"Pity, you look pretty well in that blue shirt."

_'You look well in purple,'_ he thought in his head, "I enjoy hunting."

The boy let out a groan, "I hate hunting. But I do like taking a stroll through a forest, preferably in winter."

He smiled at his childish disdain, feeling his stomach flip when Merlin returned his smile with a small one of his own.

He left the tower after what felt like only minutes, the two having an unspoken rule of keeping away from anything that would remind them of war. He tried to hide his glee as he walked down the tower stairs.

It disappeared when he saw his father walking with a group of knights behind him in the hall.

"I heard you would be here," his father said before asking, "have you leaned anything?"

Arthur paused, glancing at the knights. His father ordered the knights away and walked with him down the hall. "The boy is more talkative than his brother," he said carefully, "I believe I can form a friendly relationship with him."

"It's well, I suppose. And the elder brother has told you nothing?"

"Nothing that pertains to the war."

His father nodded, "we'll see how tight lipped he will be when his neck is under the guillotine."

He swallowed, "perhaps we should wait a while before we execute the heir."

His father hummed, "you're right. Than we'll kill the sorcerer in the morning."

"Wait!" His father stopped and turn to him with a shielded look, "the younger is sterile. When we do execute the heir, at the right time, King Balinor's direct bloodline will end. But I think until we learn if the castle was captured or not we should keep the two as leverage."

His father stared at him for a while behind a mask, Arthur hoping he listened to his words as he did so.

* * *

Merlin opened his heavy eyes, feeling something was wrong. He look at the only window in the tower, seeing the pink and orange rays of the dawn.

He picked himself off of the straw, hearing the chains rattle as he moved. He pissed in the chamberpot and saw the stale food on the wooden table. He went over to eat, forcing himself to swallow as the feeling grew in the still silence, before it was broken by a chirping bird.

As he drank the last bit of water he heard the sound of jeering coming from the cracked window. He listened for a while before his numb fingers dropped the cup, hearing it shatter on the stone floor.

He went as far as his chains would let him to the window, trying to catch a word of what they were saying. The jeering slowed and he heard a single voice speak from far away, too far for him to make out his words.

He tried to move closer when he heard another voice. He felt his stomach drop when he recognized it as his brother's.

Merlin moved as close as he could, tugging hard on his restraint, feeling it rub roughly on his already hardening wrist, wanting to hear what was no doubt his brother's last words.

He felt his eyes well up as the other male voice spoke again, than the loud cheers went on for a long while, too long, before silencing.

He didn't want to hear, but the world seemed to be against him as he could hear the sword being taken from its sheath, even the bird had stopped chirping. He closed his eyes and felt the warm tears escape as he could hear the sword being brought down.

He couldn't stop the breath of air that escaped his lips, but he could hold back the scream. He felt the cries well up but he pushed them back down each time they came.

He move from the window to wipe his eyes, sitting far away, his back almost to the wall but not quite. The chains wouldn't allow such a comfort.

The stones on the ground were warming from the bright, golden sun, it's shining rays beaming onto the floor and seeming to reach for him. He stared at them, wishing them away.

He wanted the duller light, the cold light. He wanted to see snow falling from the window's crack, feel the familiar freeze coming from the stones. He wanted to be bound in furs, his face having the familiar sting from the icy winds slapping it. He didn't want to hear the southern birds chirp and sing their foreign songs.

As he sat he felt himself wanting more and more for lightning and thunder to match his grief and anger, sleet and snow to numb his soul, howling winds and starving wolves to tear the unsuspecting Southerners apart.

He used his shirt to wipe his eyes and nose, almost hearing his mother's voice telling him to not do that. But his mother wasn't there. Nor his father. And his brother was taken from him.

Maybe they'll kill him too. Maybe they'll burn him like all the others who use magic. Maybe they'll send his remains and his brother's body to his parents so they can bury them. Or maybe his parents are dead, too.

The days passed slowly as he waited for the king or prince to visit him, to mock in his face about his loss, but only a servant visited him to give him food, saying nothing.

Each day he waited the weather seemed to grow more perfect, making him want to puke and rage and curse at the sky and whatever gods that stayed in the horrid lands.

At random times when he was awake emotions would overtake him and he would almost cry out, almost scream out his pain. He kept it all in when they came, but he couldn't stop the tears.

He looked up when he heard footsteps, the golden light streaming from the window like always. He wiped his eyes and raw nose, sniffing so he could breathe through it. He knew that his face showed sign of his weakness, but that was all the Southerners were going to see. He wouldn't break in front of them.

The door opened and he blew a deep breath out, sudden rage taking his body again before he cooled it. He heard the person walk in and frowned when the door closed behind them.

"Merlin Aurelianus," he heard Arthur Pendragon began softly, "I re...there is never an easy way to say this..."

"Than don't say it," he said, hearing his stuffy voice.

He waited a moment for him to say something before he turned to look at him. He saw the dark half circles under his eyes, his usually golden skin seemingly paler. Arthur Pendragon stared at him and he saw a flicker of sympathy mixed with something he couldn't decipher pass his eyes.

He saw him take a hesitating step forward, but not another. It seemed like he was offering to comfort him, silently telling him that he doesn't have to grief alone.

Merlin could let him. He could let him cradle him in his arms and he could pretend that it was his mother that was comforting him, or his father, or even his could get lost in the fantasy, and escape reality for at least a few minutes.

Or he could do none of those things and just feel the prince hold him, thinking that in a sea of wolves there was one that wasn't going to kill him just yet. One that could possible become the only friend he would have in this place.

But he won't. He refused to seek comfort from a _Pendragon_. He refused to seek comfort from any of them. They could all die from the plaque for all the love he had for them. The whole South could burn to the ground with him in it and he would be at peace, knowing that they were all gone.

Merlin turned away from him, sick of his face almost as much as he was sick of the warm golden sun. He waited for him to leave the room.

"There's more," Arthur Pendragon said with a reluctant voice. Merlin felt his heart clench tightly as it fell. He pulled all of his strength and looked over at him. "Morgana – the king's ward, led the part of her army to your castle successfully..."

Merlin told himself to keep breathing, keeping his gaze to look for signs to make sure that he didn't lie to him. The prince blinked and made to move closer. He glared at him and he stopped moving.

"Your father lived," he said, "the castle more or less still stands. He has captured Morgana and those that hadn't died in battle...your mother died trying to protect a tower when some of the army got through the walls."

"The maiden tower," Merlin knew, "where the women and children of old used to go in times of war. It's mostly used as an orphanage nowadays, for the children that haven't been taken in by a family..." He took in the information slowly, hiding what he felt. "It's too bad," he told him, "you had two sons to trade."

He watched the prince blink again, "now we only have one."

"Until your father has my head as well."

"He won't."

"How would you know?"

"Because...I convinced him that you were more worth to us alive than dead, given recent events."

"Good," he said sincerely, "my father shouldn't suffer anymore heartache."

Before the prince could say anything the door opened behind him. Merlin molded his face into a steel mask as King Pendragon walked in, giving his son a glance.

"Prince Merlin," the king greeted, "royal sorcerer."

"King of Camelot. Slayer of mother and children."

King Pendragon studied his face with a hard look, "I see my son has told you about your brother's execution."

"He also told me about your failed attack and your ward's capture."

The king glanced over at his son again, "has he?"

"Have you come to gloat in my face at my loss, King of Camelot? Come to convince me to tell my father to let your ward go on pain of death?"

The king stared at him, the harden iron in his eyes almost rivaling his father's. But he was only iron, not steel.

"I've come to see that you were properly bound before taken out of the cell."

Merlin almost tilted his head at his reluctant words, his eyes narrowing. "Why?" he asked.

King Pendragon motioned and knights came inside, those cursed chains in their hands. "These chains will keep your magic trapped as long at it's on you," the king says, "just as well as this tower. As I'm sure you already know."

He looked at the knights as they took off the chains that tied him to the floor, getting only a glance of his redden ash wrists before the bracers were put on him, the chains connecting the two thick and heavy.

Merlin looked over at the king, "you still haven't told me the reason you're letting me out."

"I'll let my son tell you, since he has told you everything else."

The prince stared at his father with an unreadable mask, not letting go of his gaze. The king left without a look back, leaving the room not as tight in tension.

Merlin waited a moment before staring at the prince, not wanting to run into the king or he would go up behind him and choke him with the chains.

"Will you tell me the reason now or will you keep me in suspense?"

The prince kept his mask as he motioned to his knights and turned. He felt their tight grip on his arms and he walked, trying to shake them off.

"Stop struggling," the older knight said to him.

"I would if you would let me go," he told him, "I can walk on my own and follow your prince like a good little pup without you."

"Let him walk," he heard the prince order.

Merlin rolled his shoulders as they let go, ignoring them as he walked. The sun shined through the arches, warming the side of his body.

Servants kept their gaze down when they passed, only a girl in a yellow dress glanced at him before quickly moving her gaze down to the cloths in her basket.

The prince opened a door and Merlin noticed immediately that it was the armory. His eyes moved to the racks and examined all the swords. He found his sword and his brother's before the knight gave him a sharp shove.

He gave the red haired knight a glare.

"Merlin," the prince said, "this is George."

He looked at the servant, who reminded him strongly of a well trained dog.

"Aurelianus is fine," he told the dog.

He felt the prince's gaze on him, "George will teach you the fundamentals of being my manservant."

Merlin almost felt his neck snap as he quickly turned towards him, _"What?" _He was barely aware that he spoke in his language, seeing a flicker in Arthur's eyes.

He continued in his language out of spite, since it seemed to make the prince uncomfortable, _"I am your prisoner, not one of your dogs in line for training to wash your dirty clothing!"_

"Would you rather go back to the tower and stay there indefinitely?" the prince asked with a strained voice.

He bit down hard, knowing that place had no escape even if he could get out of the chains except the window. And he wasn't going to throw himself from the tower until he had no choice, when all hope was lost and his death scheduled.

Merlin took a breath and didn't answer, tilting his head slightly to the servant. The prince seemed to nod and left him with the knights and the dog. He closed his eyes for a moment as the servant opened his mouth and started talking.

_'Gods help me,'_ he thought as the dog made him sit, putting pieces of armor in his lap and a cloth in his hand. _'The gods aren't kind,'_ his brother's words repeated in his head, _'if they were they wouldn't be gods. We must protect ourselves and our family, because the gods never will.'_

Merlin took a deep breath as he started to polish the armor, letting it out slow. _'Don't let grief overtake you,'_ his father's words spoke,_ 'not when you don't have time for it to take you. Keep it away, and let yourself go forward. But if you can't kept it away with thought alone, let yourself be fueled with thoughts of revenge.'_

He took another breath.

He will find a way out of his binds, he promised his fallen family, making sure he at least tried to kill the king and his spawn before traveling back home, where he could properly grief the loss of his mother and brother.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

He watched Merlin put a piece of the bitten cheese in his mouth from his plate, "not wasting. Unlike you. You're going to a feast and yet here you are, stuffing your face."

Arthur frowned as he talked with his mouth full, "I rarely get to eat at these type of celebrations because I am entertaining the guest. And stop talking with your mouth full, it's disgusting. You're a prince."

The boy looked up at him in mock confusion, "am I? Strange, I thought for the past few weeks I was your manservant."

"You're not acting like it," he muttered as he watched him take a piece of bread that he already taken a bite from and bit into it.

"I'm a bad manservant," Merlin said with sarcasm. "You're telling me to bring the food to the pigs or your dogs, when some of these uneaten foods could be used to feed your hungry people. Granted, I at least get feed twice a day, but other people might not. Do you know how many orphans or unable to work people this war has made?"

"Not at the top of my head, no."

"I'll wait," he said. He took his cup and filled it with wine, putting the pitcher down and taking a drink. Arthur scoffed before leaning back, going over the records in his head.

"We have over a hundred orphans and barely a hundred soldiers unable to work."

"Not counting the orphans unaccounted for," Merlin said. "Why haven't you found the soldiers some kind of work? Or the children?"

Arthur stared, motioning for his cup, which he gave to him. "What do you suppose I give them?" he asked, curious.

"Let the knights who lost their arms work in the fields. You don't need two arms to shepherd sheep or feed pigs, only a loud voice and a fast body. Maybe have them break horses that you've found, learn how to use their sword in their other hand to help train younger knights.

For those that lost their legs they could either get a counting job or help the woman in sewing leather or even help the blacksmith. Hell, get some of the children to help them, get them to sheer the sheep for wool or let them be messengers. It'll help them burn off some of their energy, running around the city, and it'll be easier for the handlers to deal with them later."

He stared at him, "some of the points are good."

"And?"

"I doubt many of my men would gladly do the things you say."

"They'll need to learn some humility sooner or later, though that lesson couldn't have come at a more horrible time if it tried. Besides, just because they aren't hacking and slashing in the battlefield doesn't mean they aren't helping with the war.

My brother made sure each person in the kingdom, no matter how small or old, helped in the war, made sure each one felt that they had a purpose, made sure that they felt like they were helping to bring an end to the war and helping to bring their family home."

Arthur licked his lips, "your brother sounds like a good man."

"He would have made a great king," Merlin corrected after a while, "the people...they were calling him Father King."

He put the cup down close to the boy and watched him take it, drinking a large gulp. He waited a moment before asked, "what does that mean?"

Arthur saw Merlin bit his lower lip for a moment, "it's a title made from an old saying...'Every father is a king but not every king a father' is roughly what it translates to in your tongue. A soldier said it to his lord father as his last words before the soldier son was hanged, a slight to that liege lord who was known for his hatred of the lower people."

He tried not to show the confusion on his face as he started to make sense of what he said. The boy looked at him, "it's an affection title. When people call you that in the North, it means that they adore you and know that you will protect them no matter what...my father was only called that once."

Arthur paused as he saw a look pass his face, "he would have made a good king, your brother."

Merlin smiled sadly before it slide off his face. With a blink he looked at him, "he was a king stories are sung about. The kind that is promised, who is said to defeat the beasts and bring peace to the land. Yet he rots as we speak..."

Arthur read the unspoken words on his face, hearing them in his mind. So he said them, "and the beasts roam free."

The boy gave a tight smile, spreading his lips until it could be mistaken for a grimace. "And the beasts roam free," he repeated.

He watched the boy take his plate and walk out of the room, the chains swishing loudly. Arthur wished that he could take the chains off and leave only the iron bracers on him, if only to stop the ringing, but they were meant to restrict the movement of the sorcerers.

_'They must bring him to the tower to change clothes or bath,'_ he thought.

When Merlin came back Arthur stripped with the boy helped, ignoring the flush when his cold fingers would brush over his bare skin, completely on accident.

He felt his hard breathes when he helped him put on his pants, hearing and feeling the whispered words in his native tongue on his shoulder as the boy hanged his head and glanced over to move his thumb around to grip and pull up.

_'He smells like burning firewood,'_ he thought when Merlin smoothed his coat before moving in front of him, "and crisp mountain air."

"What?" the boy asked.

"What?"

"You said something about crisp mountain air."

Arthur blinked at his questioning eyes, "I was thinking about going on a hunt, maybe climb some mountains and relax as I smelt the air."

"I loved climbing mountains when I saw little," Merlin commented, saying nothing else as he buttoned the coat.

"Did you chase goats?" he asked.

"I mostly did it to get on Lady Olenna's nerves," he said with a mischievous, "I never saw eye to eye with her."

Arthur moved his head to catch a glimpse of his face, "why not?"

Merlin put on his cape and started smoothing out his clothes, "she said that young princes shouldn't play with wooden statues of soldiers all the time. They should be playing with wooden swords and shields first, and later play with wooden statues. Before you say anything I was four at the time."

"You were climbing mountains when you were four?"

"Like you haven't done stupid things when you were young. Besides, I had my magic to protect me."

He hummed, saying nothing. Merlin moved away and stood with his hands crossed, studying him. Arthur looked down and messed with his clothing a bit, stopping when the boy smacked his hand.

"Did you just hit me?"

"I scolded you," Merlin said with a correcting tone as he fixed his clothing, "as well I should be. I'm trying to make you presentable and you ruin my good work."

"You sound like a wife right now," he joked as he worked.

The boy squished his face suddenly, as if he heard the most disgusting thing in his life. "Like I would marry a monster's spawn," he spat out.

Arthur swallowed and tightened his jaw, telling himself that he'd been called worse. Merlin moved away, and the chains seemed to ring as loud as the bells in the tense room.

"I expect the room to be clean when I return," he told the boy while moving to the door.

"Of course," Merlin said behind him before asking with a snide tone, "do you want to smell me before you go to bed sire?"

His steps hesitated as his brain completely halted. He didn't turn around as he gave a quick answer, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Arthur heard him scoff hard, but said nothing as he opened the door and walked out.

He wanted to drink enough wine so he would be dull inside when he got back to his room, but he remembered the singer that was supposed to come and closed his eyes with a silent sigh as he waited for the horns to blow, entertaining the guest until it was time. He mostly ignoring his father's words as he stood behind the table before sitting down to enjoy the singer.

He was almost glad his father was leaving to return to the battlefield in a few days, still angry at him for ordering him to stay in Camelot, in fear that he would be captured as well. It would also help him in keeping the promise he made by a great deal.

He gave a yawn suddenly, feeling tired as the woman sang as she walked. He blinked his eyes rapidly as he leaned, succumbing to the strong urge to sleep.

Arthur was dimly aware that he was walking on cold stone, the sound of his bare feet slapping against them echoed in the dark hallway. He knew that he was almost if not completely naked, feeling the air caress his skin.

He saw what looked like a dragon's head at the end of the hall, feeling its golden eyes stare at him. it didn't alarm him as much as it should have. A doorway was to his right, calling him silently to look inside.

As he passed and stared, he saw a world of snow below. Black trees, stripped bare of their leaves, stood strong as snow was piled on their branches. A lone wolf stopped walking and sniffed the ground, howling loudly in the dead air suddenly, a sound which vibrated in his chest.

The sound disappearing as a stone wall blocked his vision.

He started to look back to see, but something whispered to him, telling him not to. He listened to the suggestion and turned his head, glancing at the next beckoning doorway, larger than the last, to his left.

He saw a large dark room lit with torches, about five wooden tables inside. A horizontal table overlooked the four long vertical ones, which were filled to their capacity. Musicians played a tune he was unfamiliar with, the strings instruments flowing in his ears and the loud drums beating in his chest.

Some of the people danced in the empty space in the middle, letting out shrilling yowls as they seemed to let the music fill their bodies and play them as it liked. The ones at the tables talked and laughed loudly, almost roaring out their sounds.

Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with them as he kept examining.

He noticed how they all seemed to be wearing leather that were designed to look like scales, the color difficult to describe in the light. Most seemed to be a dark red color, almost black, like dried blood. Only the three at the horizontal table were wearing bright red, his eyes drawn to the empty fourth chair for a moment. Yet the further he looked at the three, the darker the leather seemed to get.

The older man at the table looked at him and Arthur suddenly knew what was wrong with them all. His eyes were of a corpse, clouded and unseeing, neither friend or foe. He noticed that his iron crown was chipped and rusted, with some of the points broken off.

He was grateful when the stone wall came and he didn't have to see them all turn fully to stare at him, the music seeming to fade more than stopping short.

Before he could think on it further his head was drawn to the right again, and he had no choice but to stare out of the narrow doorway.

It was a red plain, bodies laying still everywhere. He saw the flag of Camelot burning, while the flag of Hamrett stood tilted in the ground. He heard the distant singing of swords grinding against each other and turned.

He felt something tell him that the blond man without a helmet was him, but with a trimmed beard and about ten years older, if not more. His older self was fighting someone in black reddish armor, his helmet in the style of a snarling dragon, much like Hamrett's symbol.

The helmet man's blue eyes stared out of the eye holes in familiar, burning contempt. Arthur knew at once it was Merlin as he saw that glimpse of his pale face, having seen that contempt many times before.

His older self managed to hack deep into the younger man's side, tearing through his armor and chainmail. His blood spraying onto the dry ground in a burst. Merlin gave a strange cry as he fell to the ground, kneeling as he held his bleeding side.

Arthur could only watch as his older self place the sword on Merlin's neck, moving his arm back as his other came to grasp the hilt. He saw how his arms were still and his grip tight, yet he didn't swing.

The fingers loosened slowly and the sword fell from his hands, landing on the ground with a hard thud, as did his knees as strength seemed to leave them.

He saw Merlin stand as quick as he could, staring down at his older self and saying nothing. The stone wall was not welcomed as it blocked his view.

He forced himself not to glance behind.

He heard something creek and looked at the dragon head, the golden scales shining in the torchlight. It opened its jaws and spoke his name, the word seeming to bounce off the walls and causing them to vibrate.

It's breath smelt of rotten meat and decay, reminding him of death instantly. He tried not to breath as it said a strange word he felt he knew, something he knew from long ago yet it was surrounded in thick mist.

He blinked as he felt that he was sitting down, something sticking to his skin. Arthur stood up and started to take the webs off as his mind seemed to tear itself apart when he heard something that sounded like wet choking.

He looked up and only saw a flash of an object spinning before hands grabbed him, pulling him to the ground.

He heard a dull thud of a dagger going through wood as he hit the ground hard, his mind sobering. Arthur almost groaned as he felt nails dig into his shirt, looking up at the weight on top of him.

Merlin's head was turned from his, looking at something to the side. He turned as well and saw an old woman with an outstretch hand on the ground, blood spreading underneath her as a bloody knife laid besides her.

Arthur felt Merlin stand and looked to see knight take hold him roughly, seeing the boy's bloody hands as he struggled for a moment.

"I just saved your prince's life you ungrateful shits," he growled at the knights.

"Let him go," he heard his father order.

Arthur stood as they released him. The boy rolled his shoulders and pointed to the woman, "before you even say anything about an assassin, that woman is the mother of the son you killed a few days ago. You know, the one that disappeared in a gust of wind."

"An assassin that your father had paid well for."

"Yes," Merlin mocked, "because my father would spend a ton of money on an assassin to kill your son instead of, oh I don't know, using it for war efforts or, heaven forbid, trying to get his only living family member out of Camelot's clutches. You're confusing those imaginary actions with something _you_ would do."

He could feel the room grow colder as the two glared at each other, lords and ladies stiff as they could only stare. Arthur felt a question start to burn inside of him.

"Why did you save me?"

Merlin tilted his head towards him before turning to look at him, "I'm your manservant. It's my duty to save you or die trying. However reluctant the latter option is."

Arthur almost scoffed at the tone of his voice, stopping when he saw the look in his father's eyes.

"How did you know to come here?" he asked as his father excused the lords and ladies.

Merlin glanced at him, "I was on my way to empty your chamberpot when a serving girl came screaming down the hall, asking for the guards. Apparently she was passing by and wanted to get a glimpse of the singer's clothing so she went inside and saw the dead serving girl inside.

I ran as fast as I could here, already thinking that the singer was an imposter. Sure enough, everyone was sleeping and covered in spider webs when I arrived, her singing thankfully not affecting me."

The boy glanced at the old woman, the servants starting to carry her away with a few knights, just in case. "She was too focused on her revenge to see or hear me," Merlin continued with a tone that suggested that he looked down on her for it, "and I was able to get behind her with the knife.

You should know that it's mighty hard to cut someone's throat with bound hands, extremely hard. After she fell, I came to check to see if you were alright, and here we are."

Arthur couldn't stop his snort at the flourish he gave at the end. "It seems I owe you thanks," he told him.

"It would seem so," his father said reluctantly and almost in a mocking tone, "You have done a great service."

Merlin got that flicker and he almost shouted at him to shut up. "I didn't do it for you," the boy said, ignoring his warning look. "Believe me when I say that if the witch was planning to kill you I would have let her," he finished with a subtle sneer.

He felt the knights tense at his words, ready to strike should he move. Arthur didn't blink, afraid that if he did he would see Merlin's mangled corpse on the ground. _'A few days,'_ he thought, _'you could have stayed your tongue for a few more days.'_

"You speak the words of treason," his father said slowly.

"Strange," the boy said, "it's almost like you've forgotten I'm the son of your rival."

"Speaking as you did is punishable by death," his father continued.

_'Promise me,'_ the mouthed words flashed in his head.

"Father," he said quickly, "we need him alive."

"I know," his father said in his collective tone, "we need his heart to continue beating. Hold him. I'll not suffer anymore of that insolent tongue of yours, nor should any other."

"Father no," he heard himself almost scream hysterically as he caught on, "you can't!"

"Take my distraught son to his room. Whatever the sorceress has done to him has made his mind – "

"Father you can't mutilate him, what if King Balinor does the same to Morgana?!"

"How will he know? Are you going to send the missing tongue to him with a letter?"

Arthur fought the strong arms as he tried to think of something, anything, to stop his father from making the boy bleed. He stopped when he heard a sharp scoff.

"You don't have to bother yourself with the task," he heard Merlin's steel voice say.

He looked over to the boy and saw him stick his tongue out far in the direction of his father, seeing his mouth open wide. Arthur lunged in the knight's grasp as his teeth slammed down, seeing the tongue start to curl up and blood flowing out of his lips.

He watched as the boy's tongue fell to the floor after a flash of a second bite, followed by a splash of his crimson blood.

Merlin's hands were tight, shaking as he gripped it into a fist. His head was down, not even a groan leaving his lips as blood dripped from his mouth, just hard breathing from his nose.

"He needs to go to Gaius," Arthur said.

Thankfully his father seemed to agree, motioning for the knights holding him to follow the suggestion. Merlin didn't seem to notice that they were dragging him away, his feet moving on their own.

Arthur's eyes glanced at the tongue and looked away, "when King Balinor finds out..."

"I ask again, will you tell him?"

Arthur looked at his father for a moment before shaking his head, "may I be excused?"

His father stared at him before nodding.

The knights let go and he left to his room, fighting the half of himself that wanted to check on Merlin, wanting to see if he was alive but knowing he would only get in the way.

_'Promise me,'_ the silent, haunting words burning once more in his mind's eye.

The hours passed slowly as he busied himself, only trying once to fall asleep. He heard the door open as the sunlight start to peak in the window and looked at who entered without knocking, both surprised and not surprised that it was Merlin.

The boy was beyond pale as he placed his food on the table, not even staggering when he poured Arthur a drink, but his head was bowed.

He walked over to Merlin and put his fingers under his cold chin, seeing him turn his head sharply to glare at him. Arthur let his fingers drop.

"Did Gaius say it was alright for you to work?" he asked.

The boy's eyes seemed to flare up at the physician's name, starting to talk but all that came out was mumbled, indescribable words.

Merlin shut his mouth quickly, the tiniest flash of pain disappearing from his eyes when he stopped. Arthur felt him move his tongue in his mouth, somewhat glad he only saw a flash of what was left of the boy's tongue.

He let Merlin be, sitting to eat. He heard the boy work around his room, picking up his dirty clothes and leaving with the basket.

Arthur ate slowly, having done all of the day's work overnight. He could go train with his knight, or go let off some of his pent up tension, but something made him stay to wait for the boy to come back.

When he returned, Arthur couldn't help himself from approaching him again. Merlin regarded him warily as he came closer and placed a hand on his shoulder, "are you okay?"

The boy started to 'speak' again and growled with pain and anger flickering in his eyes. He seemed to settle for looking at his hand with an annoyed look, as if it were a fly that was resting on his shoulder.

"I didn't want this to happen to you," Arthur told him honestly before saying, "I wish you would have kept silent for a few more days." Merlin looked over to him and tried to snip a remark before he closed his eyes in defeat. He waited a moment before giving a reassuring squeeze, "it seems you're going to live."

He knew the boy was. It might take a while, a very long while, for him to be well mental from his missing muscle, but he would be alright. He was far stronger than how he looked when he first saw him a few weeks ago.

The thought that it has only been a few weeks surprised him, but not as much as when he felt Merlin's cold hands over his.

The boy's face was tilted down, eyes still closed. Arthur felt and watched him squeeze his hand, feeling something warm grow in his stomach, before the hands lifted it.

He watched him curl his fingers and throw his arm back to him, hard. Merlin eyes were open and glared at him, not saying anything.

He didn't have to, his eyes spoke volumes. Merlin didn't want anything to do with him, at least for now, and if Arthur touched him again he would attack.

Arthur took a deep breath, not showing that it hurt him slightly. He saw a flash of the red plains he saw in his dream state, the contempt that the older Merlin had for him in his dream starting to burned inside his mind.

He found that it didn't bother him that it might have been a magical vision of something that he knew could happen in the future, not even a bit. It seemed a lot of magical things that involved Merlin didn't seemed to bother him.

He watched the boy walk from him and wanted to do something to make Merlin not hate him so. He had made a promise to Ambrosius to keep him alive, and it would be easier to do that if he had his trust.

_'Promise me,' _the heir had mouthed subtly as he was 'forced' to kneel on the planks when the guillotine was moved from it and a basket was placed to catch his fallen head.

_'I promise,'_ Arthur had mouthed back before he stepped away with the rest of the knights, hadn't need any explanation to what he was promising too.

He remembered how pleased the heir had looked as he mouthed those words before bowing his head for his father to take off.

Arthur frowned as he remembered that strange request, Geoffrey telling him later that it was some sort of pact that their two houses had agreed upon early in the war. The highest lord or lady should be the one to kill the other if they were captured and sentenced to execution.

_'I promised your brother I'd keep you alive,'_ he thought as he glanced at Merlin, _'I intent to keep my word.'_

*** ~ "_Held between heaven and hell. As they're dancing...As they dance, over and over. Over..."_ – Aqualung and Lucy Schwartz: _Cold _~ ***

End!

So...should I continue or give it to someone with more talent?


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